


Partners in Crime

by mundaneone



Series: Partners in Crime [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mundaneone/pseuds/mundaneone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of TDK the Joker and Harvey Dent team up.<br/>Originally posted on LJ on 08/14/2008</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Harvey had never been the type of man who was “rolling in the dough” as they so aptly liked to say. He certainly had never had the sort of wealth that Bruce Wayne had possession of (and he didn’t want to because, frankly, Wayne was a dullard). But he had always been able to live his life comfortably.

  
  


But that was Harvey. Two-Face, on the other hand, didn’t technically exist. As far as the people of Gotham were concerned Harvey Dent was dead and buried. “A tragedy,” they said, “Oh my, that really is so sad, he was such a promising young man.” This was fine by Two-Face because as far as he was concerned Harvey had died with Rachel so it seemed only fitting the rest of the world believe he had met his end as well. The only problem with the arrangement was that it left Two-Face without an identity, and therefore, without any money with which to say, find a place to live. 

  
  


And thus Two-Face found himself living in a shit hole of an apartment in the narrows plucking money where he could and mostly staying under the radar. He wasn’t a bad man, really, he had passed judgment on those who had wronged him and that left him with relatively little to do. So what, precisely, was a mostly honest, totally fair dead man supposed to do with his time? 

  
  


Wallow in self pity seemed the most obvious answer but Two-Face was far too restless for something so mundane. But “biding his time” was acceptable. Because murderers did not pout. Unless they were the Joker… but that was an entirely different matter.

  
  


Except it really wasn’t.

  
  


“What are you doing here?” Under normal circumstances this greeting could simply be considered rude. But given that it was uttered while a baseball bat was being pointed at his “guest” at the same moment it was just a smidge above that. Of course the “guest” looked all too pleased by the welcome, or unwelcome as far as Two-Face was concerned, so maybe it wasn’t rude by some strange bad-guy code.

  
  


Two-Face could honestly say that he didn’t really care.  

  
  


“Now-now Harv,” the clown raised his hands in a placating gesture but Two-Face knew from experience that it in no way meant that the Joker was any less dangerous, “is that anyway to greet an old-uh friend?”

  
  


Two-Face snorted. “We aren’t friends. We never were friends.” Even so Two-Face (or was he Harvey again? Curse the clown for bringing the past to his door) stepped back to allow the Joker entry. If the Joker had bothered seeking him out it didn’t matter if Two-Face let him in or not. “You did kill my fiancé.” Just because she had only said yes seconds before her death didn’t make it any less official. 

  
  


The Joker waved his hands flippantly but then seemed taken by the movement and allowed his hands to flutter about, as though conducting some music that Harvey (yes, he was Harvey now…) could neither hear nor imagine.

  
  


“Oh Harvey, Harvey. What did I tell you?” And the Joker wagged a finger at him as though scolding a misbehaving child, “It wasn’t anything personal,” a flick of tongue across painted lips, “don’t take things so seriously!” 

  
  


Harvey wasn’t sure if it’s him or the monster that’s been created inside of him that found that so impossibly funny, but he snickered anyway. He wasn’t as disturbed as he thinks he should have been at the way the clown beams at him. The Joker’s in his dump of an apartment now and Harvey shut the door softly, turning in time to see the clown flop down onto Harvey’s warn but fairly comfortable couch as though he’d been there a million times. Harvey’s mind sent him flashes of the past and playing cards and dynamite and dirty cops and wondered if maybe he should upgrade his security after the Joker left.

  
  


Or just move. 

  
  


Harvey set the bat down but kept his post at the door and refused to acknowledge that this may very well be because he still feared the clown. Not for his life, he long ago stopped caring about that, but the clown had shown himself at being very inept at hitting you where it hurt the most and Harvey, Two-Face, the both of them, were going to err on the side of caution. 

  
  


The Joker twisted on the couch to stare at him, one would think the angle wasn’t possible but the clown had never cared much about what was “possible”.   For a long moment all they did was stare at one another and the silence stretched. There was blood on the clown, dark stains on his gloves and the cuffs of his sleeves. He couldn’t see the Joker’s feet but based on the smeared footsteps he could make out of his moldy floor it was a fare guess that the clown had been dancing in puddles of a deadlier nature earlier. 

  
  


“So Harv… aren’t cha gonna ask why I’m here?” 

  
  


Harvey shook his head and headed to what counted as his kitchen. Carefully and meticulously he stashed any and all blades in drawers. Some part of him said that the clown knows better than to think kitchen knives are sharp enough to do the job but Harvey knows that a dull blade will only mean that the Joker will spend more time killing you. 

  
  


“I know why you’re here.”

  
  


“O~h do you?”

  
  


Harvey nodded. “You’re here to cause trouble. You’re bored and you want to blow something up, throw some more chaos into peoples’ lives.” The last knife was in a drawer and Harvey locked them in there. A trick he’d learned after about the second time he’d been broken in to. He knew that if the Joker really wanted in there he’d find a way, but it still made Harvey feel better. Harvey looked up and came eye to eye with the clown. For such a flamboyant creature the Joker could certainly move silently when he wanted to. 

  
  


Purple clad arms folded on the counter and a dopey grin on the madman’s lips. “Oh Harv, you know me so well. Tell me, Baby, why’d we ever brake up?”

  
  


He snorted and told himself that it was disbelief and that he really wasn’t finding the murderer funny. Mentally he shrugged and played along, “You never called.” 

  
  


Black rimmed eyes blinked in surprise for a long moment before the Joker burst into demented giggles, hands clapping. “Oh Harvey I knew you’d loosen up eventually! Tell me tell me Harvey what ha~ve you been up to?” 

  
  


The fact the clown can talk in sing-song after all the atrocities he’s committed was something Harvey wasn’t sure he found repulsive or admirable. And the fact that he wasn’t sure made him question his sanity all over again. But he had come this far, so he shrugged it off and kept dancing to the Joker’s tune. Even if he couldn’t hear it.

  
  


“This is pretty much it, clown. Got what I wanted so I’ve just been laying low.” He waggled his eyebrows in a way that always used to make Rachel laugh. The Joker seemed to find it funny as well. “There isn’t much fun to be had when you’re dead.”

  
  


The Joker sighed in exasperation, “Harv~ey I thought I taught you better than that!” 

  
  


He snorts in wry amusement because for some reason every time the Joker, this mass murderer who nearly brought Gotham to its knees, says his name it sounds like a whine. In all his years facing down scumbags in the courtroom they’d been snide, they’d been violent, they’d broken down and they’d cried.

  
  


But they never whined, and none of them were half the criminal the Joker was. 

  
  


Life was funny like that. 

  
  


The Joker was still talking so Harvey tuned back in. “Life’s at its  _most_  fun once you’re dead! The rules that everyone loves oh so much (rules you used to like too, didn’t you Harv? But we took care of that didn’t we?) fall away and all that’s left is-“

  
  


“Chaos?” Harvey finished blandly. 

  
  


Purple gloved hands gestured valiantly in the air, as though they were painting a picture too beautiful (or grotesque) for any human eye to see. “Ye~s Chaos!” And only the Joker could say a word and have you know he was capitalizing it. “You see Harv, your recent entry into dead-dum makes you absolutely perfect.” Harvey didn’t say anything so the clown plowed on, “There’s no rules for how a dead man is supposed to act. No happy little guidelines.” The Joker’s fingers danced across the counter. “See,” Harvey didn’t even flinch when the clown clasped their hands together and shook them earnestly, “I’m already operating outside the rules, but they still want me to abide by them. (Which is really silly, don’t you think Harv?) but they can’t very well arrest  _you_  now can they? After all, they killed you. Gave you a funeral and everything. (Very touching that, by the way. Saw it in prison. Great stuff, Harv, really sob worthy.) so that only leaves one question.” The Joker’s tongue pops out to flick across his split grin. “What are you doing in a place like this!? You should be livin’ like a king, Harv, doing anything,  _taking anything_ that you want!”

  
  


Harvey laughed and patted the Joker’s cheek without even thinking about it. “But see, that isn’t really  _fair_  now is it? And we all know that fair is what I’m all about.” He disentangled himself from the Joker’s clutches and moves across to another cupboard where he pulled out two glasses. He retrieved a scotch bottle and returned to where he left the clown.

  
  


He poured two glasses.

  
  


The Joker twisted and flopped down backwards on Harvey’s dusty wreck of a counter. Harvey could feel it wobble; practically hear the wood groan and he knew damn well that a screw came loose. He took a swig of his drink. 

  
  


“Besides,” Harvey heard himself say, as though no time had passed at all, “I thought you were against all that,” he waved his hand in the air, searching for the words that used to come so freely, “ _material_  nonsense.”

  
  


The Joker nodded, a rather peculiar sight given the man was still lying upside down on Harvey’s counter. “Oh I am, I  _AM_. But see that’s the thing, Harv.” And the clown twisted again, a swirl of purple and suddenly they were nose to nose. Harvey took another drink. “See I might not have a use for all that  _fluff_  but you, you Harv aren’t me.” The clown pouted, “And I just  _hate_  to see you so down and out.”

  
  


Harvey snorted and then winced when scotch came out his nose. It was completely undignified and totally ridiculous. Especially when he joined the Joker in helpless giggles as a result. 

  
  


It was like he was in middle school again. And they’re telling jokes that they all think are dirty but really just don’t make any sense. And they’re laughing and loving it and just being kids and none of them are worried that they look foolish because that’s how they’re supposed to behave. 

  
  


But Harvey isn’t in middle school. Harvey’s a grown man who had a fiancé and a career and a damn  _life_. 

  
  


He sat the glass down and tilted his head curiously, watching the clown watch him.

  
  


“What do you want Joker?”

  
  


The clown clapped happily, “Oh, see Harv~ey that’s the million dollar question isn’t it? What does the Joker want? Isn’t that what everyone kept asking themselves? What does he want, what  _does_  he want?” The Joker flopped down again and Harvey  _knew_  his counter wasn’t going to take much more abuse so he nudged the clown with his glass and moved from the kitchen.

  
  


He’d settled himself onto his own couch comfortably by the time the Joker finally followed. Like a dog, he’d said once. How fitting. The same memory seemed to have flashed through the clown’s mind because when he reached Harvey he settled himself onto his knees on the floor, arm resting across Harvey’s own knees and idly swinging his untouched glass to and fro.

  
  


Harvey wondered how long he could put up with this before he went for his gun. And then he remembered that he didn’t have it anymore. The Batman had taken it and Harvey hadn’t seen any reason to get another one. He cursed himself and took another drink. 

  
  


“But you see Harvey, I do want something.”

  
  


Harvey nodded and gestured extravagantly with his glass, “The  _Batman_.” He said and the Joker bobbed his head eagerly.

  
  


“Yes,  _Yes_  Harvey that’s it  _exactly_!” 

  
  


The ex-attorney snorted and took another drink. “And how do you think I can help you with that?” He glared at the painted face at his knee, “and why should I?”

  
  


The Joker giggled, like glass splintering and trailed his blood caked gloved hands up Harvey’s calves. “Because we’re fri~ends and friends help each other,” the Joker’s grip tightened and the untouched scotch sloshed to the floor as the clown clutched at Harvey’s leg with both hands and peered up at him, “don’t they?” 

  
  


Realization came with all the subtlety of the man before him. “Oh. Oh, _oh no_.” And Harvey scrambled to move backwards to  _get the hell away_  because he suddenly realized just how the Joker thought he could help. 

  
  


The hands holding him clutched tighter and Harvey had never noticed just how strong the clown actually was. He was hauled back down at the same time as the Joker was crawling up his body, like he was a rope ladder or something.

  
  


“But Harv~ey,” and there he went with the whining, “he isn’t paying attention to me anymore! He’s got some… some  _new fling_  and he  _never calls_  or even shows up!” The Joker had latched onto his lapels and hauled him forward.

  
  


Harvey swallowed nervously, hands twitching and  _needing his coin_  because he couldn’t decide what to  _do._  So he laughed, “So your big plan is to make him jealous?   Want to show up at the dance with a new boy on your arm and see if he’s watching you from over his date’s head?” 

  
  


The Joker settled on Harvey’s lap and smiled. It was the sort of smile only Dr. Suisse could describe. Termites and things, isn’t that how it went? The hands that had been clutched tightly in his clothing relaxed and tried to smooth out the wrinkles they had caused. 

  
  


“Oh Harvey-Baby, it ain’t that way at al~l. The Joker leaned back slightly, and then forward. Harvey took a drink, and then another before he realized that the clown wasn’t just restless. The damn bastard was  _rocking_. Harvey’s eyes bugged impossibly. “You see,” the clown looped his amrs around Harvey’s neck but kept talking as though he weren’t doing… whatever it was he was doing, “everyone  _knows_  about me. They don’t know everything of course… but still I’m old news,” he’d practically sneered the words, as though they were an affront to his very existence, “but  _you_  oh Harvey  _you!_ ” 

  
  


“What about me?”

  
  


“You’re dead.”

  
  


Harvey rolled his eyes and took another hit of his drink. This was going nowhere and he wished he could just give the clown the boot. “I know I am, that’s why I live  _here._ ” He gestured with the hand holding his glass to encompass his accommodations. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized that his other hand had settled itself onto the Joker’s thigh and hadn’t moved since it’d fallen there.  With a disgusted grunt he moved to retract his hand but one of the Joker’s own clamped down on his wrist and refused to budge. 

  
  


The Joker’s other hand was waving in Harvey’s face insistently, “no-nonono! That’s not  _it_! Harvey you’re dead! You’re dead because The Bat and  _Commissioner Gordon_  decided that Gotham couldn’t handle what you’d done. So they killed you.”

  
  


Harvey nodded slowly. He’d known all that already, what was the clown’s point?

  
  


“They covered up murder Harvey. They killed you and set you free when all you needed was a hug and some help.” The clown mock pouted and Harvey finally caught on.

  
  


“I’ve been letting them off easy.”

  
  


The Joker gurgled happily and the pace of his rocking increased. The hand that had restrained Harvey’s own went back to dangling over Harvey’s shoulders. “Yes Harvey,  _yes!_ ”

  
  


“All this time I’ve been in hiding, not causing any problems… but they want that… they  _need_  that…”

  
  


“Together Harvey,” and those bloody hands were suddenly clutching the sides of his face tightly. The pain was instant even after all this time but Harvey ignored it like he always had, “together you and I can upset the natural order of things! We can watch ‘em  _squirm_  because they ruined you Harvey-Boy. They ruined you good. You shouldn’t have to play dead for them because they want you to.” 

Harvey surged forward, glass of scotch toppling to the floor as he tangled his suddenly free hand into the greasy mass of dyed hair and hauled the Joker down for a sloppy kiss full of dark promises.    



	2. Chapter 2

The thing to understand about the Joker is that he actually does plan things. But his plans are always subject to change and half the time he makes things up as he goes. So when Harvey and the clown parted ways after that first meeting since Harvey’s rather unfortunate demise the ex-attorney wasn’t really expecting to see his newly acquired partner until the clown was ready to do… whatever it was the clown wanted to do. Things progressed business as usual for the next several days and Harvey allowed himself the luxury of forgetting that the Joker had ever darkened his (admittedly shabby) doorstep. 

  
  


They’d nabbed him on his way back from the corner grocery. There was an old woman there whose eyesight had stopped functioning properly years ago and never seemed to mind that Harvey always wore a hoodie when he shopped there. He’d had a fairly small bag full of the bare essentials, hood pulled up high, and making his way back to his piss poor excuse of an apartment when large, strong arms had wrapped around his waist and he’d been hauled sideways into a moving vehicle. He’d struggled viciously until he realized that he’d been deposited across from the Joker, who was all razor smiles and copper smells. 

  
  


They say you could never fully wash the smell of blood away. The Joker was living proof. 

  
  


“Surprise Harvey!”  The Joker yanked on the drawstrings of his hood and hauled him in close to hiss into his ear, “It’s playtime!” 

  
  


The truck pulled to a stop but none of the occupants moved as if to get out and Harvey rolled his eyes, “I take it there’s no plan?”

  
  


Henchmen snorted and giggled and the Joker rounded on them, knives glinting wickedly. They shut up after that and it was as if Harvey and the clown were the only people sitting in the back of that truck. 

  
  


“No Harvey, there’s no plan. Plans are for people like Gordon, for people like mobsters and business men. You and me? We’re something else. We don’t need plans.” The Joker leaned in close, “So tell me, Harv, where do you want to make your grand entrance? Who do you want to see suffer?” 

  
  


That was really a good question. He wanted The Bat to suffer, he wanted Gordon to suffer. He wanted the city to see them as he saw them. But other than that he didn’t really know if there was anyone left to hurt. He sat in silence, head dipped and deep in thought while the Joker played with his knives and the goons shifted nervously in the stillness.

  
  


And then he knew.

  
  


Harvey’s head snapped up sharply and he’d whirled wildly and launched himself at the door before anyone could move to stop him. His companions were all so shocked that it took them longer than it should have to realize that Harvey Dent had jumped out of the truck and was sprinting down the street. The Joker was after him in a flurry of purple but Harvey hadn’t been trying to get away and he hadn’t run far. 

  
  


The newsy gaped at the both of them in muted horror until the Joker lunged over the stand with his knives drawn. Harvey ignored the screams in favor of flipping swiftly through the paper clenched in his hands. He smiled, the charred half of his face splintering and aching from the unfamiliar activity, and thrust the paper in the clown’s direction. 

  
  


“Here.”

  
  


The Joker looked up from his handiwork, blood splattered across the white of his makeup and soaking into his clothes. Ruby colored hands reached for the page, and when they made contact Harvey didn’t even bother to wipe away the blood that had gotten on him. The clown hunched over the paper and hushed words and murmurs reached Harvey’s ears as the Joker read aloud.

  
  


When he was done he looked up at Harvey and laughed.

  
  


“Well aren’t I just the luckiest girl at the prom!”

  
  


They strolled back to the truck, one of the Joker’s leaky arms slung in a gesture of comradeship across Harvey’s shoulders. The paper was left marred with bloody fingerprints and scribbled laughter around one particular article.

  
  


Bruce Wayne was having another fundraiser. 

  
  


“There’s a pattern to these things, Harv.” The Joker was prancing about his apartment, leaving red trails from the still wet aspect of his clothing. Harvey watched the clown stagger and glide in that perplexing juxtaposition from his place against the wall and didn’t say a word. “We go in, cause some general mayhem and then The Bat swoops in, beats us around, and we start all over again!”

  
  


Harvey snorted.

  
  


The Joker paused mid gesture, one leg awkwardly raised in the air as though he’d been about to do a jig and Harvey nearly flinched when his personal space was invaded by the jittery clown. “It’s fu~n, Harvey, trust me.” The Joker’s head tilted and Harvey shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “But Harvey, we’re really going to have to do something about you. You can’t go to the ball in  _that_  get up!” The Joker flicked the drawstrings of his sweatshirt again and Harvey sneered. 

  
  


“I’m not wearing makeup.”

  
  


“Oh no, of course not. That’s  _my_  thing. Besides,” the clown trailed a finger down the burned side of Harvey’s face, “you’re perfect just the way you are.” His nose wrinkled, “except the clothes, of course.” With a harsh jerk the Joker turned him and shoved Harvey in the direction of his bedroom. “I got a present for you, Harv, something that will make you the real belle of the ball! Go on go.” The Joker made shooing gestures with his hands and Harvey resigned himself to playing dress up.

  
  


If the clown wanted to do this flashy that was alright. Harvey could deal with theatrics so long as his objectives were met. There was a brightly wrapped box set on his “bed”, which was really just a filthy old mattress he’d hauled in from the side of the road. He inhaled and went to open the box, half expecting to be blown to pieces for so foolishly trusting someone as diabolical as the clown in the next room. 

  
  


There was no bomb, nothing more devious than what looked like a brand new suite nestled in purple and green tissue paper. Carefully, so as to avoid any hidden razor blades, Harvey pulled his gift out and studied it with a morbid sort of amusement.  It looked very much like the grey suit he’d worn when he had enacted revenge. The right half of it was clean cut, the sort of outfit a proper attorney would wear. But the left, oh the  _left_! It really was funny, in a sick sort of way. The left half had been tailored specifically to look like charred fabric. It wasn’t, for it was as smooth as its counterpart to the touch, but the  _vision_  of it was near enough to enrage and tickle him. Harvey donned it and laughed at the sight of himself in the mirror before heading out to where the clown was waiting. 

  
  


The Joker perked up like a dog that heard its master coming home, head jerking oddly to look at him. The murderer’s grin grew even wider and he clapped his hands giddily. “Oh Harv~ey! It looks perfect! Just  _perfect_!” The clown hopped to his feet and circled Harvey like the predator they all knew he was, Harvey shoved his hands in his pockets and smirked. “We have to send them the message, Harv, have to let them know just what happened. Let them all see just who is responsible for poor ol’ Harvey’s fall.” The Joker titled his head, “Don’t we?”

  
  


“Two-Face.”

  
  


Black rimmed eyes narrowed, “What?”

  
  


“While I’m wearing this suit my name,” Harvey pointed at himself as though he were trying to explain to a very dimwitted child, “is Two-Face.”

  
  


A beat and then the Joker was cackling, arms wrapping around Harvey in a tight hug. “OH I just knew you’d be a gas Harv! I just  _knew_  it! Ah!” The clown disengaged himself and started rooting through the numerous pockets and secret hideaways of his coat. He started tossing knives onto the rickety counter when it became apparent he was having difficulty finding whatever it was he was looking for. “I have something else for you Harv~ey. Something I think you’ll just  _love_.” Something small and warm was pressed insistently into Harvey’s hand. “One last thing before we go and crash the party.” 

  
  


Harvey opened his palm and stared blankly down at the burned surface of his father’s coin. He looked mutely at the Joker, uncertain about what he was supposed to be feeling. 

  
  


The Joker shoved the doors open and gestured dramatically, like a conductor at an orchestra. Harvey stood a pace behind, hands shoved unceremoniously in his pockets taking in the trust-fund brigade in all their lavish splendor. Behind him he heard the goons moving out into the fore, guns firing into the ceiling. The sounds of gunfire and startled shrieks were oddly calming and Harvey couldn’t stop himself from grinning at the sight of all the self-important wealthy of Gotham cowering at the sight of them. 

  
  


“Good evening Ladies and Gentleman!” The Joker crooned loudly and the mass before them fell chillingly silent almost instantly, all eyes riveted to the Joker who took a sweeping bow once he realized he had their collective attention. “Hate to crash the party but we have something special to celebrate!” He pranced to Harvey’s side and looped one arm around his neck and pressed the other hand to Harvey’s chest, right at the split, “This here is my pal, Two-Face, and we’re showing him a good time! You all wanna help~uh with that don’t ya?” 

  
  


Harvey wasn’t really paying attention; his eyes were silently scanning the room, searching for Gotham’s favorite party boy. He spotted Alfred standing stiffly a few paces away. The older man’s eyes staring at Harvey’s face in shocked recognition. Harvey grinned and nodded his head hello. The butler averted his eyes.

  
  


Ah. There he was. Bruce Wayne himself, standing in a small huddle of pretty young ladies in short dresses. Harvey sneered at how lavishly this playboy was living in comparison to his own pathetic existence. At his side the clown seemed to have realized that Harvey’s attention was… elsewhere and his head jerked up and he giggled manically, hands sliding from Harvey’s body so that the Joker could clap giddily. 

  
  


“So  _there’s_  the man of the hour! Bruce Wayne! Hey! Hey Bru~cy!” And Harvey watched the Joker saunter over to the notorious bachelor and swing an arm around the back of the dark haired billionaire’s neck and haul him forward. Around them the minions were milling about, satchels open and collecting whatever valuables they could.

  
  


Harvey wondered if they’re going to get to keep any of it and realized he didn’t much care one way or the other. The Joker brought Bruce Wayne up to Harvey and chuckled. “Hey Two-Face this is Bruce Wayne.” A pink tongue flicked out across his split grin, “I think you two had-uh, a mutual,” the Joker was overcome by giggles, “mutual _friend_.” 

  
  


By which of course the clown meant Rachel. Harvey rolled his eyes, already immune to the Joker’s viciousness but Wayne,  _oh Wayne_  looked downright livid. The billionaire’s eyes flicked to Harvey’s and latched there, his voice dropped to a hiss.

  
  


“ _Harvey_! Harvey what are you doing?”

  
  


The ex-attorney shrugged, “I’m robbing you, Bruce.” He leaned in close and patted the dark haired man patronizingly on the head, “What does it  _look_  like I’m doing?” And then he froze, hand still settled on the dark hair and really  _looked_  at the other man. “You don’t sound all that surprised to see me alive and well there Bruce. Since when have billionaires been involved in police cover ups that aren’t about them?”

  
  


Bruce smiled, that utterly charming smile that had always made Rachel melt, no matter how long she’d been attached to Harvey’s arm. “When you have as much money as I do, Harvey, you learn how to find certain things out.” The smile fell, “You should have come to  _me_  Harvey! I could help you! I-”

  
  


The Joker had apparently decided that they were done talking. Harvey raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t move to interfere as the Joker pounced on the billionaire, cackling like the madman he was. Instead he slinked along the crowd, grinning charmingly at the ladies. It should have disturbed him how much he enjoyed seeing how disgusted the sight of the muscles in his jaw working made them. 

  
  


A startled yelp jerked Harvey’s attention back to where he had left Bruce with the Joker. His good eye widened impossibly at the sight of the clown being kicked viciously backwards by the suddenly formidable billionaire. The Joker crashed into the buffet table. Harvey made it a few steps in his fallen comrade’s direction before the clown had clambered to his feet, grinning madly. The Joker’s hand swept the ground around him, coming up holding a surprisingly large cutting knife.

  
  


“Oh Brucy packs a punch!” Mad chuckles. 

  
  


Bruce was keeping the Joker within sight, but was staying a safe distance from the clown. His attention, however, was still clearly focused on Harvey himself. “Harvey, Harvey you don’t want to do this.”

  
  


Harvey laughed, hand diving inside his suit and retrieving his very new, very shiny gun. “I know that Bruce. Let’s play a game, what do you say?” He turned to see the Joker watching raptly, “You like games don’t you clown?”   

  
  


The Joker sighed breathily, “Oh  _yes_  Harvey.” Harvey didn’t even bother to tell the clown to call him by his new name.

  
  


One of the goons positioned by the windows spoke up, “Boss, the cops just got here.” The Joker waved a hand dismissively, and then allowed the motion to continue, twirling up to Harvey like the music was coursing through him. 

  
  


“You’re going to play it fair aren’t you, Harvey?” Ah, there the clown went with the pouting. A sad shake of his head made the greasy yellow-green strands flutter slightly. “When are you going to get it through that pretty half burned head of yours that games are so much more fun when you don’t play fair?”

  
  


Harvey shrugged and held his father’s coin up for Bruce to see. Shiny side first, “you live,” and then the reverse, “you die.” It flew through the air, he caught it, slapped it down violently on the back of his hand. The room held its breath, the Joker giggled, hands slapping together. Harvey moved his hand. 

  
  


They stumbled through the door, blood on their clothes, on their hands, in their mouths. Their heads swam in the scent of it. Harvey pulled back; hand still clenched tightly in the Joker’s ridiculous purple coat and heaved for air. The Joker laughed an endless stream of giggles and hauled him back down by looping his arm around the back of Harvey’s neck to continue the kiss. The heavy thuds that sounded as they dropped the sacks of loot heedlessly to the ground went unnoticed. They weren’t what was important. 

  
  


Harvey had done it for vengeance.

  
  


The Joker had done it for the kicks. 

  
  


The money was just a bonus that would allow Harvey to keep his shit hole of an apartment for another month. 

  
  


Hands freed Harvey grasped his partner in crime by the ass and hauled him upwards in a movement that surprised them both in its smoothness. The Joker gurgled happily and wrapped strong legs around his waist, one hand burrowing into Harvey’s hair and the other remained looped around his neck.

  
  


Harvey kicked the door shut and tried to focus on getting to the bedroom without making a fool of himself by accidentally dropping the clown or running them into a wall. They separated to breathe and the Joker laved a trail from the good half of Harvey’s chin to his ear where he whispered dirty sweet nothings about how he just  _loved_  a good fuck after a night of terrorizing the people of Gotham. 

  
  


They toppled together onto the worn mattress in a tangle of limbs. It smelled of stale vomit and old urine but neither of them cared. Harvey’s hands were shaking from the adrenalin, from the absolutely glorious high of it all as he worked with the clown’s pants. 

  


The Joker was shrugging off his coat and then tearing his bloody gloves from his hands with his teeth. They were practically ripping each other’s clothing from their bodies, both of them moving and shifting too much for it to have any grace, both far too desperate to even realize it. 

  
  


Finally,  _finally_  Harvey got the Joker’s pants undone and shoved them down to his ankles roughly. He didn’t make it a habit to carry lube, and while he was pretty sure that the clown would probably love it hard and painful Harvey just didn’t have it in him to take the Joker without some sort of preparation. One hand clutched at the clown’s throat and squeezed, cutting off the endless slew of words he had been ignoring.

  
  


Dark eyes made even darker from the makeup stared up at him expectantly. The clown rolled his hips and made garbled desperate noises. Harvey shook his head and shoved two fingers into the Joker’s mouth.

  
  


“Suck.”

  
  


The Joker’s eyes went hooded and that impossibly talented tongue slithered around Harvey’s fingers like the Joker’s words had around his mind. He tugged his fingers free with a wet pop and moved them down the Joker’s body quickly.  Without thinking his hand tightened around the Joker’s neck. The pleading moan and bucking of hips drew his attention from his current task of (very quickly) prepping the clown.

  
  


For a long moment in which Harvey’s fingers continued to move they just eyed each other before Harvey rolled his eyes and squeezed tighter with his hand against the Joker’s throat. He was rewarded by a harsh thrust of the Joker’s hips and hands clawing at him desperately, trying to draw him closer.

  
  


“Of course you like being choked! What was I thinking?!” Harvey shook his head in disbelief and leaned down, nibbled on the Joker’s ear and hissed, “God you’re a sick son of a bitch.”

  
  


A sound that Harvey interpreted as an attempt to laugh wheezed from the man below him and with one last squeeze Harvey let go and moved to latch onto the Joker’s thighs and haul the other man closer so that the lower half of the Joker’s body was rested on the top of Harvey’s thighs.

  
  


“I’m going to fuck you so god damn hard.”

  
  


The Joker laughed, scratching at Harvey’s arms and writhing in his hold, “promises, promises Harv~ey!”

  
  


“Yeah? Well, unlike  _you_  I actually  _am_  a man of my word.”   

  
  


They came together in fits of laughter and heartless threats. The Joker’s hands latched onto the back of Harvey’s neck and dragged the ex-attorney down so that they were panting in one another’s faces.

  
  


“You should have killed the playboy Harvey.”

  
  


Harvey glared and slammed in deeper, harder, and relished in the hint of pain in the moan the clown emitted. He snarled wordlessly and snatched one of the Joker’s hands from behind him to slam it into the quaking mattress that really might as well not have been there at all for all the good it was doing them.

  
  


“Yeah? Well  _you_  shouldn’t have killed all your men! Jesus what goes through that fucking head of yours? Do you think there’s an endless arsenal of people willing to follow you?”

  
  


The Joker dug the nails of his free hand harshly into the back of Harvey’s head. Into the burned side. 

  
  


“God damnit!” A harsh, painful thrust, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” The Joker was panting like a whore and Harvey was finding it very hard to concentrate, “You want to fight? Fuck, I’m balls deep inside you and you want to fight?” 

  
  


“I-uh always want to fight, Harvey-baby.” 

  
  


The Joker wrenched his hand free of Harvey’s hold and lunged forward, unprepared to support the sudden weight Harvey collapsed backwards. The Joker cackled madly and rose up, sank down with increasing momentum. 

  
  


“Never-uh had a guy like you Harv, you’re one of a kind!”

  
  


Breathlessly Harvey laughed, “Two of a kind.”

  
  


The clown gurgled happily and wracked his nails down Harvey’s chest. “ _Three_  of a kind.” A pause, “And The Batman makes four.” The Joker titled his head, “Think he’d want to join us?”

  
  


“I think he’d sooner throw us in jail.” 

  
  


The Joker moaned and twisted, still moving up and down to reach into Harvey’s pants pocket. The clown showed Harvey the pure silver surface, “You cum first.” He turned it, much as Harvey had done hours before, “I cum first.” The coin sailed through the air, but neither of them bothered to see how it landed.

  
  


The next morning there was an article in the newspaper about the robbery at Bruce Wayne’s. The paper stated that the Joker and a new accomplice known as Two-Face had rampaged a fundraiser. 

  


Harvey Dent’s name was no where to be found. 


End file.
